playing with fire
by radiosilcnce
Summary: Rewrite of "Dangerous Liaisons" because I'm bored. GodricxOC. Lets see where this takes us.
1. Chapter 1

Something missing. Something big. Something…that she just couldn't put her finger on. It was right there, at the tip of her tongue or at the back of her mind and she just couldn't quite grasp it. Every time she thought that she was close enough to grab it, it slipped away. If she could just remember something…anything! A fleeting moment or a feeling or even just an idea of what she had been doing for the past year then she might not have felt so lost. But there was nothing but a big black hole where her memories should have been.

"Thalia?"

"Mhm?" She looked up, realising a second too late that she had been so immersed within her own thoughts that she had been neglecting the matter at hand.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." She smiled and tried to look as if she meant it. She was tired of everyone tiptoeing around her, treating her as if she were made of glass.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

What was her name again? Anna or Abbie or Aimee, something like that. She had long blonde hair, and impossibly blue eyes. She was very pretty; the kind of girl Thalia would have felt intimidated by in high school. She launched back into a description of the boy she was seeing. Or wanted to be seeing or was trying to be seeing. Thalia wasn't sure exactly what the situation was, and she had not been paying close enough attention in order to catch up. Oh, well. She wasn't sure that she cared. She felt…out of place. She didn't know these girls. No, she did, she just didn't remember knowing them. Anna or Abbie or Aimee was talking animatedly, and Thalia watched her. She tried to forge some kind of feeling of connection to this girl who had (re)introduced herself as Thalia's best friend, but instead she felt…nothing.

A prolonged moment of silence and Thalia glanced around, wondering if she had missed something. The other girls (there were four of them. All very pretty, all with names Thalia couldn't quite remember) were alternating between staring appreciatively at something she couldn't see, and fixing each other with knowing glances.

"Hel- _lo_ " the girl to Thalia's left, a brunette with legs for days, murmured, eyes following the unseen force that was commanding their attention.

"I would. I _so_ would." Another blonde was grinning and twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Behave." Anna or Abbie or Aimee rolled her eyes.

Out of sheer curiosity Thalia turned to see what she was missing. Her gaze landed on a boy, of course. Pale, dark hair, tattoos, and nothing else worth noting. He was striding down the street in their general direction, gaze fixated on the floor.

"Do you guys know him?" Almost as if he had heard her, the boy looked up and straight at her. He was nice to look at, she thought. She stared back at him for a long moment before she lost interest and turned back to the girls.

"I _wish,_ " said Brown Hair, then she sighed. "If only all vampires looked like him."

"Vampires?" Thalia echoed, a hint of disbelief coloured her voice. She turned in her seat to look again, but the boy was gone.

"Yeah! You couldn't tell?"

"How can you tell?"

"It's the skin," the others murmur in agreement, "that pale, sickly, I'm-dead kind of look."

"And that's…" Thalia paused, glancing around the group, "good?"

"Sure. Vampires are _very_ in right now."


	2. Chapter 2

12 months earlier

The city of New Orleans didn't seem to sleep. Ever. It was kind of like New York in that way, The City That Never Sleeps. It was comforting; it reminded her of home. It was dark now, almost gone eleven, but it seemed that the party was just getting started. The streets were lined with people, both tourists and locals alike. The amalgamation of music that was coming from the many bars situated up and down the street made a pleasant sound. Not like one would expect; it wasn't at all jarring, almost as if they complimented each other. There was a sense of freedom here, not like New York where everybody knew her. Knew who she was; who her family were; who she'd dated and who she was friends with. She could be whoever she wanted to be here. She could start over and nobody could tell her otherwise.

She checked her watch. A quarter past 11. She hadn't meant to stay out so late. Although she would have liked to stay a while longer, she supposed she ought to head back. She had only ventured out into the city for some food. It had been hours and her new roommate would surely be wondering where she was. With a sigh she checked her pockets for her keys and her cell. Once she had determined that they were both there she began in the direction of the parking lot in which she had left her car. She took a left down an alleyway, leaving the promise of an unforgettable night behind her. There were no lights down here, nor music. The silence was omnipresent and a little creepy. She picked up her pace, no longer charmed by the magic of the city, eager to return to the safety of her car. Perhaps it was the sudden darkness or the overwhelming silence, but Thalia couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. She couldn't explain it, it was a gut feeling and she had long accepted that a gut feeling ought not to be reasoned with.

"Hey there, sweetheart." A voice cut across her thoughts. The voice itself gave her reason enough to be alarmed. It was sinister, almost predatory, and she suddenly felt very aware of the fact that she was alone. The owner of the voice stepped out in front of her, blocking her path. He was shrouded in the darkness that permeated the alley, so she couldn't see his face, but she could see that he was taller than her. A lot taller, and well built. She didn't stand a chance. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone?" It was almost as if he'd read her thoughts.

"I was—" just heading home, was what she had intended to say, breaking off awkwardly when she realised what a foolish thing to tell him that was. "I'm just on my way to meet a friend." She lied, unconvincingly she thought. Her voice was timid and she was visibly nervous.

"At this time?" She couldn't see his face but she could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Er—yeah." Every cell in her body was screaming at her to put as much space between herself and this mystery man as possible but he was blocking her way forward, and she had a nasty feeling that if she turned and ran he would chase her. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and attempted to move forward, hoping that he would move out of the way and let her pass. He didn't. As Thalia stepped forward, so did he, effectively placing himself directly within her personal space. "Could I just—"

"No."

Her heart sank as she realised that there was a very real possibility of something horrible happening to her. She could feel her heart pounding; she wondered if he could hear it, it beat that hard. "Please." She had meant it to sound assertive. Authorative, even. But it came out uneven and breathless, barely more than a whisper. She tried again, "let me go." It sounded like she was begging. Perhaps she was.

He didn't answer. Instead he moved (or, she assumed he moved. It was so fast she didn't see it) and she was slammed into the alley wall. The force of the impact was so that it winded her; she couldn't draw breath, couldn't have screamed even if she had wanted to. He dipped his head and inhaled deeply. Thalia, her face a mask of frozen terror, watched helplessly. He shouldn't have been that strong, or that fast. It was inhumane. Because, she realised with a start of terror, he wasn't human, was he? He wrapped his hand around her throat, his ice-cold hand with a grip that was iron clad, confirming her suspicion. He wasn't a man at all, she thought with a whimper, he was a vampire.

 _Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god, oh god, oh god._ "No god will help you now." Thalia hadn't realised she had been talking aloud. She also hadn't realised that she was crying, but the sudden wetness on her cheeks indicated as much. If she could talk, she realised, she could also scream. It seemed unlikely that she would escape with her life, but it didn't hurt to try. What did she have to lose? She drew in a deep breath, screamed and prayed to god that somebody would hear and not mistake her screams for sounds of partying. The vampire, taken aback by the sudden noise, hissed and made to—what, exactly she never found out. One moment he was rearing up in front of her, the next he disappeared, pulled from her as if by a magnetic force. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, but once they did she saw him crumpled against the opposite wall. A boy around her own age stood between them. The boy—no, vampire—was staring down at the other, contempt etched across his face. The other was on his feet again in a split second, he started towards the boy who didn't move an inch but raised an eyebrow.

"Are you challenging me?"

"I—"

"Are you _challenging me?_ "

He glared at the boy and then at Thalia who was still backed up against the wall, legs turned to lead, unable to move. Glare turned back to the boy, he spat on the floor in disgust before racing off in a blur. Relief washed over and, if not for the wall propping her up, her legs might have given out beneath her.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" The boy turned to face her. He took a slow step towards her with a wary expression, as if he expected her to bolt. Like she could.

"No, I—" she pushed herself off of the wall and took an unsteady step in the wrong direction. She didn't care which direction she went in, as long as it took her out of the alleyway and away from the vampire. It didn't matter that he had saved her; he was still a vampire. "I'm fine," she tripped, and he put a hand out to steady her, which she shrugged away. "I'm fine," she said again, a little more forcefully this time. "I need to…go. I have to go." He didn't say anything to that, and Thalia took that as her permission to leave. Without as much as a backwards glance or a thank you she hurried off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive back to school seemed to last an eternity. Her heart was still pounding; every shadow and every ambiguous figure in her peripheral threatened to jump out at her, fangs bared. Eyes glazed over, she paid little attention to the road as she recounted the attack over and over in her head. She cursed herself for her own cowardice in the face of danger. Thalia knew that her fear had not been misplaced and that her reaction had been nothing short of what was to be expected, and yet she couldn't quite shake the thoughts that told her that she should have been braver, fought back even.

"Where have you been?" A voice demanded the second that Thalia stepped foot through the door. Still unnerved from the incident in the city, she jumped at the sudden noise. She must have looked as bad as she felt because when her roommate, a tall and willowy blonde called Aimee who Thalia hadn't quite made her mind up about yet, took one look at her face, concern flashed across hers. "Are you okay?" She stood up and moved over to where Thalia was still stood in the doorway. "What happened to you? You look awful."

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm fine." Thalia lied. She didn't want news of her…encounter spread around the school. People would want to know what had happened, and she didn't feel like repeating the story a thousand times only for it to be warped and twisted beyond recognition. That, and she didn't want to be known for the wrong reasons. She had left that life behind in New York, and she intended to start as she meant to go on; she had come to New Orleans to start over, away from her fucked-up family and the people she had once called her friends.

"Are you sure? You look—"

"Awful," Thalia cut her off. "Yeah, I heard you the first time."

"Like you've seen a ghost."

Thalia shrugged and turned so that she could close the door. Then lock it, and check that it was locked five times over. She didn't suppose that it mattered, no doubt a vampire would be able to break a lock with minimal effort, but it made her feel safer nonetheless. "I've got a headache."

"Oh. Okay. Have you taken anything?" Before Thalia could answer, Aimee walked to her desk, opened the draw and pulled out a small box of aspirin. "Here," she tossed the box in Thalia's direction.

"Thanks." She felt bad for being so short with her, but not so bad that she considered telling her the truth. That would stay with her. She fumbled with it for a moment before pulling out the pills and popping a couple out. She didn't have a headache, like she had led Aimee to believe, but they would help dull the ache of her entire body after being slammed against a brick wall. She swallowed each one with a mouthful of water before feeling in her pocket for her cell phone; she needed to set her alarm for the morning. But it wasn't there. She patted herself down twice over and came up empty both times. "You haven't seen my cell, have you?" Even as she was saying the words aloud, she knew what the answer would be.

"No," Aimee shook her head, looking around the room as if it might suddenly appear. "Where did you last have it?"

"I—" down the alleyway when she was attacked by a feral vampire was the last time she had seen her phone. And she was betting that was where it was now.

"I could ring it!"

"Oh, no, that's okay." There was not a chance in hell she would be returning to the city. Not when it was dark, at least, and by the time the sun came up somebody would have surely found it and claimed it as their own. She would just have to buy a new one.

But Aimee had other ideas. Ignoring Thalia's words, she dialled the number anyway and held up a finger, signalling that it was ringing. Thalia watched her. She was motionless for a moment, and then her eyes widened, and she waved her hand as she said "Hello?" into the phone. So, somebody had picked it up. That figured. Almost lazily she held her hand out for the phone. Aimee handed it to her and Thalia pressed it to her own ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello." The voice that came across the line was serene. It took Thalia aback. She had been expecting something more…volatile. Perhaps that was the lingering aftermath of the alleyway incident.

"Uh, hi. You, er—you have my phone."

"Are you hurt?"

"I—what?" That hadn't been the response she had been expecting.

"Are you hurt?" The voice repeated. Concerned. They sounded concerned. Why?

"What are you talking about, am I hurt?" She became aware of Aimee watching and listening closely to the exchange. Reluctant to explain the situation, Thalia turned away from her, hoping that it looked somewhat natural. "I just want my phone back."

"The phone you dropped when you were attacked." It wasn't a question.

"How do you-" her heart, which had settled somewhat upon her return home, began to pound again at the mere mention of the attack. Was it him? The vampire that had attacked her? She felt a thrill of terror at that. If he had her phone he could find her. Here, or back in New York. He would have all of her contacts. Friends and family. Anybody she had even a slight connection to. "How do you know about that?" She had meant it to sound demanding but it came out a little less so: high pitched and wavered on the last word.

"I was there, I—"

"Please," she cut him off. "Please, I don't want any trouble." She tried to keep her voice down, aware that Aimee was straining to listen to every word. "I won't tell anybody. I swear, I won't tell anybody. I just—"

"I'm not the one who attacked you."

Silence on both ends. It was the other one. The other vampire. The one who had saved her. She hadn't recognised his voice; he sounded different on the phone. Should she say thank you? She realised she hadn't before. She hadn't cared about being rude, only about putting as much distance between herself and any and all vampires.

"Hello?"

"Er—" she realised she had been silent for too long, but she now she wasn't sure what to say.

"I assume you want it back?"

"What?"

"Your phone. You want it back, I assume?"

Of course, she wanted it back. Her entire life was on that phone. Numbers, texts, photos, memories. But retrieving it would mean a meeting with this vampire. That was a meeting she would rather avoid. Perhaps she could just have him drop it off when she wasn't home, but that would mean giving him her address.

"No." She said abruptly.

" _No?"_ He sounded surprised.

"No. Keep it. Throw it away. Do whatever you want, I don't want it." Without waiting for a reply she hung up and threw the phone down on her bed. She turned around and jumped when she laid eyes on Aimee sitting on her own bed, watching Thalia with narrowed eyes. She had forgotten that Aimee was there.

"What was that about?"

"Huh?" She feigned ignorance.

"Are you getting your phone back?"

"Uh, no. But it's fine. I'll just…buy a new one, or something."

Aimee looked like she wanted to dispute the subject, but Thalia yawned and muttered something about being tired. She wasn't tired. She was wired up, and scared, and annoyed. Three days. That was all it had taken. Three days in a new city, a thousand miles away from the one she had left behind, for her to have started down a path similar to the one that had led her away from New York. Perhaps she never should have left.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning came with indecent haste, but Thalia found that she didn't mind. She had barely slept at all, and what brief moments of sleep she had been able to clutch on to had been filled with an impenetrable darkness that chilled her to the very bone. She had lost count of the number of times she had woken with a start, drenched in a cold sweat.

5:45. It seemed pointless for her to even try and sleep anymore. Wide awake and yet exhausted at the same time, she sat up and cast her eye around the room. Aimee was still asleep. As quietly as she could, Thalia climbed out of her bed and grabbed her stuff. A towel, toothbrush, clean clothes. She exited the room carefully, making sure not to slam to the door behind her.

The shower was lukewarm, and the water pressure left a lot to be desired, but in a way it was somewhat therapeutic. The way the water washed over her under the dim, yellow light was calming. Like it was washing away the terror from the previous night. She reached up for her shampoo and was rewarded with a particularly painful twinge. It started in her upper arm and travelled all the way down her side, her back, and into her thigh. She looked down. Although restricted by the angle, she could see her skin; blue, black and swollen. It was painful to touch, she discovered when she touched her fingers to it. It looked bad, felt even worse. Thalia forced herself to finish her shower, putting off the moment she would have to look in the mirror and assess the extent of the damage. She took her time. Washed her hair twice and then conditioned it, because why not? She washed five times over before she could justify standing under the steady stream of water no longer. She wrapped a towel around her body, making sure not to pull it too tight against her bruised skin. She unlocked the door and took a few tentative steps over to the mirror above the skin. She glanced around, making sure that she was alone (unnecessary at 6am on a Saturday), before she let the towel drop just a little, laying bare her shoulder and upper back. A sharp intake of breath followed. Black, blue and purple spread across her skin, a stark contrast to the ivory that dared to creep back in at the edges. She dropped the towel a little further, hoping that the rest of her body had fared a little better, but to no avail. As if somebody had used her body as a canvas, her skin was horribly discoloured from her back right down to her thighs. Where her she had hit the brick wall with an inhumane force.

How long she stayed staring at herself in the mirror, appalled, she didn't know. It was only when she heard the far-off stirrings that indicated that others were waking and going about their day that she pulled on her clothes as quickly as her body would allow without protest and hurried back to her and Aimee's room.

"Hey!" Aimee was awake.

"Hey," Thalia attempted a smile; it felt more like a grimace.

"You were up early."

"Yeah I…I couldn't sleep."

"Oh. That sucks."

Thalia watched as Aimee pulled out her phone, reminding her of the fact that she no longer had one. She would have to buy another one. How else would her mother continue her weekly (sometimes daily) updates on everything that was wrong with their lives? With a sigh, she made her decision. Although the idea of potential radio silence sounded wonderful, going incommunicado was impractical, amongst other things.

Aimee had recommended a run-down corner shop in a sketchy part of town where Thalia could pick up a burner phone. She could have gone to a proper shop, with sophisticated models and airtime plans to match; god knew she could afford it, but that sort of thing no longer mattered to her. Long gone was the version of Thalia who had needed the most up-to-date devices, in-style clothes and the most expensive cars. The things that had once seemed important to her were not so anymore. She no longer found unbridled joy in material goods.

"I just need something simple." She told the man behind the counter. He was a large man, unshaven and wearing a baseball cap backwards. His well-worn, slightly grubby tank top showed its appreciation for the New Orleans Pelicans. He looked at her expectantly. How much clearer could she have been? "Something I can call and text on," she continued hesitantly, "nothing fancy." With a grunt, he handed her a small, black handset. Non-descript and certainly not fancy. Perfect. "How much?"

"$35.99."

"Here," she handed over a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change." She took the phone, ignoring the surprise etched across the shopkeeper's face, and left.

Outside, Aimee was leaning against the wall. She looked up when the door swung open and Thalia stepped out into the midday sun. It was hot. Much hotter than Manhattan at this time of year. She longed for the coolness of their upper east side apartment. Or, even better, their house in the Hamptons with the pool big enough for Thalia's entire senior class. Who knew how many consecutive days she had spent lounging by the pool over the summer.

"Done?" Aimee asked, pushing her sunglasses atop her head.

Thalia held up the small device in answer.

"Cool. So," Thalia sensed a dramatic change in subject, "there's a party tonight."

She gave a non-committal grunt. It was almost unbearably warm and her body, already exhausted and achingly painful from the previous evening, wanted nothing more than to lie down in a cool room and sleep for a year. Besides, what would she wear? It was too hot to cover up, but she couldn't very well walk around with her full-body bruise on show. That would invite far too many awkward questions. She was uncomfortable now, with shorts just long enough to cover the blackened skin on her thighs, but she had had to don a jacket to hide her shoulders.

"We're going, right?" Apparently, Aimee wouldn't take a non-committal grunt as an answer.

"Oh, I don't know…" Thalia began hesitantly, racking her brain for an excuse. I'm tired was all that she could come up with, but she had a distinct feeling that that excuse would not cut it. Aimee didn't strike her as the type who took "no" as an answer very easily.

"Come on, it'll be fun! We've only been here three days, and classes haven't started yet; you can't be tired!"

"Not tired," Thalia groaned inwardly. "Just…not really in the party mood."

"Is that just another way of saying that you're boring?"

"I'm not boring!" Thalia protested. "I grew up on the upper east side, I—" _spent most of my teenage years in the party mood_ , was what she had intended to say before she stopped herself, but the damage was already done. She had slipped up, revealed a part of her past. She had been intending to lie, to pretend she was from a small town in Connecticut if people asked, which she had hoped they wouldn't. Trust fund babies like her came with a stereotype. A well-deserved stereotype, but one she had been hoping to avoid. She had left that life behind for a reason. "—I went to a lot of parties." She finished lamely.

"Good." Aimee flashed her a smile and pulled out a driver's licence that suggested she was a good five years older than her eighteen years. "What are we drinking?"


	5. Chapter 5

She stared at herself in the mirror. Had been for what felt like hours, trying to analyse her reflection with an unbiased eye. She had tried on fifty outfits at least, and had ended up opting for a long-sleeved, pale gold number. The dress was perfect. Not for the occasion—it wouldn't have looked out of place at a charity gala. She had once gone to those kinds of events willingly; boring from an outsider's point of view but whoever was throwing it almost always sprang for an open bar, and an open bar plus upper east side socialites was a perfect recipe for entertainment. She felt a little overdressed for a college party, but the dress covered her back and the material was light. She cast yet another critical eye over herself, self-consciously smoothing down imaginary creases. She pulled her hair up and then let it fall back down again. I look like my mother, she thought with a scowl. She couldn't quite decide if that meant that she was dressing beyond her years, of if her mother had yet to outgrow fashion favoured by her teenage daughter.

"Nice dress." Aimee announced her return, striding into the room in 6-inch platform heels, a pair of high-waisted jeans and an off-the-shoulder crop top. "Expensive, too." She moved closer, eyeing the dress with a renewed interest. "Is that Dior?"

"Uh," Thalia dragged her gaze away from the mirror, glancing at Aimee over her shoulder. "I don't know, is it?"

"You don't know?" Aimee arched an eyebrow.

"It was a gift." Thalia shrugged. It wasn't a lie. It _had_ been a gift. Not that she couldn't have afforded it herself.

Aimee didn't look like she believed her, but she didn't pursue the subject. Perhaps she could sense that the subject of her life before college was a subject Thalia wasn't all too keen to touch upon. Perhaps she simply didn't care. Thalia was grateful either way.

* * *

The party was everything one would have expected a college party to be: music so loud it was hard to think; red cups strewn across every surface; drunk students, girls and boys alike, chugging unknown concoctions much to the delight of their peers who cheered them on. Despite herself, Thalia could feel her old self raise its perfectly-groomed head. Once upon a time, her presence at a party like this one often meant that she was (in her own humble opinion) the most important person in the room, if not the richest. When she walked into a room she had expected to turn heads. She would cast her gaze, cold and calculating, over its inhabitants; establishing a hierarchy was crucial. Before, she reminded herself. Not now. Not here. Things were different now. She had long since learned (the hard way) that there were more important things than maintaining a place at the top of the food chain. Having fun, for example. She turned to Aimee, who was surveying the room appreciatively. She turned to Thalia, who smiled.

"Let's get drunk."

* * *

Four double vodka sodas later, Thalia stumbled into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror; she was glassy-eyed and a little dishevelled, but she felt happier than she had been in a long time. Not a care in the world; free. She took a lipstick out of her bag and started to reapply, assessing herself in the mirror, when a girl no older than she stumbled in. Thalia smiled at her through the mirror. The girl, a petite redhead, gasped, eyes wide.

"You okay?" Thalia turned to face her.

"You're her."

"What?"

The girl moved closer, eyes like saucers that never once left her. "You're her." She said again. "He said to tell you…"

"…Tell me what?" Apprehension began to build, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear her answer.

"He's here." She looked dazed when she said it, almost as if she were in a sort of trance. "He's going to kill you."

Thalia's heart began to thud, and dread seeped through her. It was him, it had to be. The vampire. The one who had attacked her the night before. He had followed her, and was now watching her every move, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now he was toying with her. Playing with his food, the way a cat might play with a mouse.

Her initial thought was to stumble back out of the bathroom and make a hasty exit. Her next, more rational thought urged her to act natural. He was here somewhere and watching her. He had followed her here, meaning that he more than likely knew where she was living, and had followed her from there. He was playing with her, enjoying the chase. He didn't want to kill her just yet. With a deep breath, she pulled open the bathroom door and stepped back out into the fray. She scanned the room unconcernedly, looking for Aimee. Where was she? Now was not the time for her go to MIA with a vampire stalker in hot pursuit.

Trying not to look panicked, Thalia took an unsteady step forwards, eyes still combing the room. She took out her phone and was typing a message when she felt, rather than saw, somebody staring at her. She looked up uneasily, gaze falling almost immediately on a dark-haired man stood in the corner, one shoulder against the wall. He was tall and incredibly well-built, like he worked out. Did vampires need to work out? Most noticeably he was pale. White as a sheet. And he was looking at her as if she were something to eat. She supposed she was. His smirk widened once he saw that she had noticed him. Frozen to the spot, Thalia stared back. Her heart was pounding, she wondered if he could hear it. She wanted to recoil away from him, despite him being stood on the other side of the room, but she couldn't move. Fear, perhaps. Or some kind of vampire magic. The girl in the bathroom had looked like she was under a spell, maybe he was doing the same thing to her.

"Thalia!" Aimee came bounding over and the spell was broken. Thalia wrenched her gaze away from the vampire in the corner and caught Aimee as she tripped into her. "There you are!"

"Hey!" She glanced back to the corner; the vampire was gone. "We should go." She lowered her voice. Just because she couldn't see him didn't mean he wasn't still watching, listening, stalking.

"What?" Aimee looked dismayed. "Why? Aren't you having fun?"

"A little too much," Thalia lied. "I'm such a lightweight. I'm sorry."

"Oh." She pouted. "Ok. Let's go then, I guess."

Thalia breathed a sigh of relief, although she knew it would be short-lived. If they made it back to school alive it would be a miracle, but once they were there they would be safe. For the time being.


	6. Chapter 6

The darkness seemed to jump out at her. Every breath, every minute movement, every tiny noise had her heart beating in her chest. She couldn't bring herself to close her eyes, convinced that if she did she would be attacked immediately. She lay, staring up at the ceiling; her heart was pounding, and the room was spinning. A hundred times over she imagined the vampire tearing the door off its hinges, forcing his way into the room and tearing into her neck, as she was sure was his intention. She couldn't shake the images, they played on a loop in her head; over and over and over. She lay in bed, too frightened to sleep. How, she wondered, would she ever relax again? At night, at least. During the day, she was safe, but once the sun set…every horrible possibility came alive. She stared at her phone, her stupid burner phone, in the darkness. The display told her it was a quarter to three. She wondered about her old phone. Did that other vampire still have it? Surely he would have thrown it away—what use was it to him?

Out of curiosity, she typed a short message (' **Hi** ') and sent it to her old number. She waited. Waited. Waited, and nothing. She was about to set it down and (at least try to) get some sleep when it beeped, indicating an incoming message.

 _Hello._

She stared at the message for a long moment. She hadn't really been expecting a reply, and now she wasn't entirely sure what to say.

 **You still have my phone…**

 _Do you want it back?_

Of course, she wanted it back! She just had no desire to go through the motions needed to get it back. He seemed harmless enough, this vampire. No, not harmless, but he had saved her life.

 **Is that a trick question?**

 _I'm not holding it hostage—you're welcome to come and get it._

 **I don't want to come and get it…**

 _Would you like me to bring it to you?_

And tell him where she was living? **No!**

 _So, you don't want it back?_

 **I do…**

 _Well, I'm afraid we're out of options_

 **Yeah…**

 _What's your name?_

She frowned at the sudden change of subject. What did it matter what her name was? Why did he want to know? She was inherently distrustful; he was a vampire, after all. A vampire that had saved her life…

 **Thalia.**

 _I like that_.

 **What's yours?**

 _Godric._

Her frown mingled with an incredulous smile. _Godric_. She had never heard that one before, not outside of a Harry Potter book, at least.

 **That's an odd name**

 _It's an old name._

 **How old are you?**

 _Very._

His answer was vague, and she realised it was probably quite a personal question. To someone like him, at least, who could have been alive for hundreds of years. Possibly even thousands, she supposed. She sighed and set down her phone and resumed her staring at the ceiling. Her eyes were heavy, begging to be shut. But she couldn't. She couldn't sleep. She just couldn't.

Her phone beeped again, and she glanced down in surprise.

 _Your mother wants to know why you aren't answering her calls._

 **What?**

 _Your mother. You've had several calls from her. And texts._

 _Someone called Aurora is annoyed that you're ignoring your mother._

 _Your father also texted and called. Would like to know how you are._

Her eyes widened, disbelief etched across her face.

 **My dad? Are you sure?**

 _I'm assuming that's who 'Daddy' is?_

 **Yeah, I just haven't spoken to him in a while is all.**

 _You're not close?_

 **Not since he ran off with the housekeeper two years ago…**

 _Oh._

Oh. Just oh. She could imagine the look on his face; awkward and pitying. Not quite sure what to say. Still, it was better than the disparaging glares she'd had to put up with once news of her father's indiscretion became public knowledge from those she had once called friends.

 **Awkward. Too much information, sorry! Erm, tell my mom I'll email her. Tell Aurora I've been busy.**

 **Pretend to be me, obviously.**

 _Why don't you just give them your new number?_

Why didn't she just give them her new number? Because then she'd have to explain what happened to her old one. And, as selfish as it was, she was kind of enjoying the peace and quiet that came with having no cell phone.

 **It's just easier this way. Please.**

 _What about your father?_

 **What about him?**

 _What should I tell him?_

Her fingers ghosted over the keypad several times as she tried to decide which course of action to take. Two years it had taken him to reach out to her. Two agonisingly painful years. A part of her yearned to talk to him, if only to hear his voice again. The other part of her, a much larger part, thought that whatever it was that he wanted could wait, just as she had.

 **Nothing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, mom. Sorry I missed your calls—I've been so busy! Will call soon, and we can catch up. T x**

Thalia stared at her computer screen for a long moment before hitting send. The email was short and lacked enthusiasm, the sentiment was perfunctory at best which, up until two years ago, was a good way of describing any and all interaction between Thalia and her mother. She and her siblings had been raised by nannies and au pairs while their mother lived her best life: brunches and cocktail parties; charity galas and debutante balls; book club with the girls; anything but spending quality time with her children. She was distant at best, downright neglectful at worst. Thalia had learned at a very young age that one of the only sure-fire ways to get her mother's attention was bad behaviour—god forbid she embarrass the family. Her father was better; he showered Thalia and her siblings with genuine affection and expensive gifts on the rare occasion he made it home for longer than a few days at a time. Work always took precedence…or had, at least.

* * *

The memory of that day was still painfully clear. Sixteen years old and slap-bang in the midst of her delinquent phase, Thalia had ditched school and sauntered on home around midday. Her mother was away at a spa retreat and her father was away with work, as always (although, she was hoping that was starting to change; he had been home far more frequently over the past six months than he had in the past sixteen years). The new housekeeper, Thalia forgot her name, wouldn't care. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped out into the foyer. She pulled out her cell and shot a quick 'come over' text to James. It was then that she heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. She looked up, apprehension turning quickly to joy.

"Daddy!"

"Thalia," he frowned. "Why aren't you at school?"

Her face fell. That wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. "I got sick," she lied. "What are you doing here? I didn't think you were back until next week. Mom said—"

"I don't have time for this." He cut her off brusquely. "I can't find my fucking passport."

Taken aback, Thalia stared at him for a moment as he brushed past her. She turned, following his progress around the foyer when her gaze landed on a large suitcase by the elevator. Next to it, on a small ornamental table, were what looked like plane tickets. "Why do you need your passport?"

"I'm going away."

"For work?" She made her way over to the table and picked up one of the tickets. There were two. "I didn't know you did business in Puerto Rico." She held up the ticket.

"What?" He looked up from where he was rifling through a briefcase, stopping when he saw the pass in her hand. "I—it's new. New business." He spoke haltingly, as if he wasn't sure what to say, and he looked uncomfortable.

"Dad." He avoided her gaze determinedly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing! Nothing." He couldn't look at her. "You weren't supposed to be here. I left a letter, I was going to call—"

She moved away from the elevator, moved closer to him. She stared at him for a moment, not quite understanding—or not wanting to. "Are you—" she didn't want to ask, fearing what he might say. "Are you _leaving?_ "

Having finally located his passport, he turned his back on her and bent to pick up his jacket. He shrugged it on; the silence between them was deafening.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question this time. His refusal to answer was answer enough. "Why? Dad, why? Is it—is it me? I—please don't go. I'll try harder, I'll be good I promise. _Dad!_ "

"Thalia," he sighed and came to a stop in front of her. "It's not you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving past her. He took the suitcase, grabbed the tickets and moved to the elevator.

"Dad." Thalia followed. If he would just stop for a moment, if he would just look at her she could—what? Convince him to stay? The doors opened, and he stepped inside. " _Dad!_ " By the time she made it to the doors, they were closing. "Dad— _please!_ Don't g—" they shut, and her father was gone.

Financially, her father leaving hadn't made much difference to the family. They had always had more than enough money; her mother was rich in her own right. No, it was the scandal that had ruined them. The news that Richard Livingston upped and left his family and run off with the 25-year-old housekeeper had completely abolished their social standing and Catherine Livingston's entire social calendar in one fell swoop. The youngest of four, Thalia was the only one of her siblings left living at home, and it had fallen to her to navigate the shattered remains of their family.

* * *

Lost in the memory of her broken home, Thalia jumped when her cell, which was sat in her lap, went off. She glared down at it, as if it had done it on purpose. Oddly enough, when she saw her number—her old number—pop up on the screen she smiled. She opened the message (' _Good morning_ ') and began to type out her reply.

 **It's 11 o'clock at night…**

 _That's morning for me._

 **Hmm!**

 _Fine. Good evening. Better?_

 **Much, thank you.**

 _Your father called again. Sorry._

The smile, and with it her fleeting good mood, disappeared. She didn't want to talk to her father. Had no desire to hear what he had to say. The window for that had long since closed.

 _He left a voicemail._

"Hey!" Thalia looked up as Aimee came through the door. She was holding her handbag in one hand, a white envelope in the other. "This was taped to the door." She held out the envelope.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. It's addressed to you."

Frowning, Thalia took the envelope. Sure enough, her name was scrawled across the front. Odd, since she didn't know anyone here besides Aimee. She opened it hesitantly, and then wished that she hadn't. Inside were several polaroids, all of her. Some were of her walking across campus, others showed her entering the very building she was sat in now. There were a couple of her and Aimee the day they had gone to get her new phone. It was him, it had to be. Her blood ran cold; the meaning behind the photos was clear. Even in broad daylight she was being watched. Perhaps not by him, but by those he had coerced into doing his bidding. Nowhere was safe.


	8. Chapter 8

Thalia must have fallen asleep at some point, yet when she started awake in the darkness, she felt thoroughly unrested. She stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, exhausted but unable to convince her mind to shut back down. She reached for her cell on the bedside table. According to the display it was just after three in the morning. It also showed her the last message from Godric, still unopened. The distressing revelation that she was being stalked by a vampire that had a displayed an active interest in murdering her had somewhat distracted her.

 _He left a voicemail,_ Godric had said. So, what? She didn't want to hear what he had to say; be it an apology or an explanation, it didn't matter. If her father wanted to talk to her, he could come and say whatever he had to say to her face. And even then, she still wasn't sure she would be willing to hear him out.

 **Delete it.**

A few minutes passed. Thalia sat up carefully. Her bruised skin was still tender and hurt to touch; it made it difficult to move freely, and painkillers did little but turn to pain into a dull ache. She pulled up her pyjama top and inspected the section that covered her waist. It looked worse, she thought, although she couldn't really tell in the darkness.

Her phone vibrated in her lap, distracting her from the injury.

 _What are doing awake at this time?_

She hadn't been expecting a reply, but she found that she was glad for it. _Why?_ She didn't know. She couldn't explain it. She was lonely, and he was someone to talk to. Someone so far removed from all the messed-up shit that had happened over the past couple of years. _He's a vampire,_ scolded the more rational part of her mind. _He's dangerous._ It didn't feel that way, and he _had_ saved her life.

 **I haven't been sleeping well.**

 _Why not? Are you unwell?_

For a moment she considered telling him: about how her entire body _ached_ after being thrown against an unforgiving brick wall (perhaps she should go to a hospital?); about how the vampire he had saved her from was playing a deadly game in which she was an unwilling participant; how she feared for her life, and how she wondered why complications seemed to follow her wherever she went; how she was angry, _so_ angry, at her father's attempt to make contact. In that moment it almost all came flooding out, but she stopped herself. They were virtually strangers. There was such a thing as oversharing, and Godric, as nice as he had been to her, was surely not interested in that which conflicted an eighteen-year-old. That, and she had long since learned that the only person she could afford to depend on was herself. Stubborn to a fault, she would be the one to fix her problems, and she would do it without complaining.

 **I'm fine. Still adjusting. I'm not a big fan of change.**

* * *

Godric glanced down at the phone that did not belong to him. A small smile threatened to disrupt his impassive expression when he saw it was her (she was very popular, it seemed. Dozens of texts and missed calls plagued the phone every day, and only half of them from her mother).

"With all due respect, Guardian," Godric began wearily as he picked up the phone, "this isn't my mess." The rogue vampire that had attacked Thalia was proving to be a bit of a problem; not just to the mainstreaming agenda that the Authority were so eager to push, but to their image as well. What did it say about the vampire authority that they were unable to track down and punish one rogue vampire? And in their own territory as well.

"You had him within arms length," he spoke with an air of forced calm. Godric could see his ill-disguised anger simmering beneath the surface, just waiting to erupt, "and you let him go?"

"He attacked a human. _Another_ one. My priority was to make sure she didn't go screaming bloody murder through the Quarter."

"And now, thanks to you, he's free to kill again."

"This _is not_ my mess." Godric repeated, a little more forcefully. He had his own issues to deal with in his own area, of which New Orleans was not. "I've helped you as much as I am able."

"Sheriff," Roman called him back as he made to turn away. He sat at the head of the table, eyeing Godric with something close to dislike. "Tread carefully."

Without much more than a fleeting backwards glance, Godric left the room. He paid no heed to idle threats, not even from that of the Authority. He did his job, and he did it well, but this was not his job. Tailing reckless vampires with a flagrant disregard for human life through the French Quarter was not his jurisdiction. Louisiana had its own Sheriff, so why was Godric being forced to abandon his own area and lend a hand here?

Irritably, he lifted the phone still in his grasp, and suddenly he wasn't so irritable anymore.

 _Do you miss your family?_

Call it a hunch, or the barrage of texts he was receiving on a daily basis (on her behalf), he rather thought they missed her.

 **Not exactly. It's nice to be away from them.**

A moment passed before:

 **Is that bad?**

 _I don't think so. Sometimes it's nice to branch out on your own._

 **Yeah, I guess.**

 _Don't expect too much too soon. It might take a while before it starts to feel like home._

 **Yeah**

 **I just…I don't even know where home is anymore. After my dad left everything just kind of fell apart.**

 _What happened?_

 **It's a long story.**

He stared down at the phone for a moment, undecided. They were strangers, almost, and yet he felt almost as if he knew her. He had seen the incoming texts on her phone (they were hard to miss, they came that often) from what seemed like every member of her family. He had seen the photos of her and her friends, her family, her boyfriend. It was an odd feeling, like he was viewing her life through a window.

After a minute, he made up his mind, pressed the call button and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang out for longer than he had expected. Of course, he had been stupid to assume that she would want to—

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"What are you-?" She sounded confused. "Did I run out of texts?"

"No," he laughed. "I thought…" _I thought you might want to talk._ To a stranger? "What happened?" He repeated.

There was a long pause. So long that, had he not been able to hear her breathing, he might have thought that she'd have hung up. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."


End file.
